malevolent-muse - Tumblr blog

malevolent-muse · 1 day ago

Text

Echoes from the Edge - NBC Hannibal Fan Fiction -

I got bitten by a particularly feisty plot bunny and ended up contracting a touch of writer's rabies. The only cure? Writing this one-shot to get it out of my system! I think it makes for a decent read. *fingers crossed* Okay, I know crossover stories can be a little controversial, but hear me out—both Hannibal and Law & Order: Criminal Intent were NBC shows, so it actually makes sense to pair them together! All I’m doing is taking a character from one world and dropping him into the twisted, psychological universe of Hannibal. I promise, it’s not as crazy as it sounds. Stick with me on this one!

Fandom: Hannibal/Law&Order:CI Status: Complete Word Count: 2,902 Rating: Teen Summary: After the bloody crescendo of Hannibal Lecter's twisted relationship with Will Graham, the aftermath demands clarity. With FBI investigators reeling, Jack Crawford turns to an outsider: NYPD Detective Robert Goren, a seasoned profiler known for his uncanny insight and unorthodox methods.

Goren arrives to sift through the wreckage, unburdened by the tangled web of involvement with either Lecter or Graham. But as he delves into the crime scene, he finds himself haunted by the lingering remnants of the chaos. The scene tells a story of a trap, betrayal, and violence.

Can Goren uncover the truth Jack seeks, or will the echoes from the edge of the Atlantic leave him questioning more than just the case at hand?

*** Cross Posted on AO3 - which has a better user interface for fanfic, IMO.

Like this work? Join the Tag List

Tagged: @agoraphobiaismyname , @cherryyredd8 , @irlmarkhoffman , @eat-sleep-ship-the-ships , @tujhse-raabta , @gabalicious-g , @buggaboorenegade, @diaely, @blessupblessup, @jssnsl , @fancybananagarden , @thebkwyrm , @breannaherman638 , @drwho-ess , @malindacath , @mrsmorganprentiss , @privatetruths

The wind carried a chill as it whipped around Jack Crawford, tugging at the edges of his upturned collar. Not far away, the roar of the ocean echoed faintly in his ears as he waited. The gravel road that led to the cliff-side house was long and winding. And even though the car was in sight, it still took a few minutes for it to reach its destination.

Grime from the road covered the black exterior, making the vehicle look more gray than anything else. Beneath the dirt, with its New York tags, the license plate was barely visible. Grinding to a halt a few paces from the Agent-in-Charge of the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, a cloud of dust billowed around the car’s tires.

A man emerged from the driver's side of the vehicle. Exiting, he stretched his legs and squared his shoulders beneath a brown trench coat.

Jack eyed him thoughtfully, foremost noticing the man’s striking height and imposing build.

“Detective Goren,” Jack greeted him.

Approaching, the detective returned, “Agent Crawford.”

"I take it that you’ve read over the notes I sent?”

“Yes,” Goren said with a nod. “Were you able to secure the photos I asked for?”

Holding up the thick folder in his hand, the FBI agent wordlessly indicated his response.

“Come,” Jack instructed. “Follow me. I’ll show you to the crime scene.”

It was as the pair of them plodded up the footpath to the house that Jack realized he had been rather remiss in his niceties.

“I suppose I should thank you,” he stated.

“For what?”

“For coming all the way down from New York.”

“Did I have a choice, Agent Crawford?” Goren questioned. “I am aware of the strings you had to pull to get me here. You do know that I’m not the only profiler on the Eastern Seaboard, don’t you?”

“My options were limited.”

There was a hint of cautious speculation in the detective’s voice as he replied, “Will Graham’s been teaching at Quantico for a while now. Before then, he was in the field. Would it be fair to surmise that he has close ties to or has trained most of your agents?”

In response, Jack grunted a wordless reply. He was acutely aware that he had placed Will in a position where fellow profilers, both unseasoned and experienced, held him in high regard. Bringing any of those individuals into this investigation would not be prudent.

“All I’m saying is that I was surprised to get the call,” Goren supplied. “I knew Will too, after all. Even if it was just in passing.”

At this, Jack chuckled.

“Hard to imagine Declan Gage’s protégé being surprised.”

Behind him, the agent could hear the footsteps abruptly halt. Jack paused as well, turning to look at the NYPD detective.

“With all due respect, Agent Crawford,” Goren said, his jaw visibly tightening as he met Jack’s gaze, “is that why I’m here? Because Declan Gage was my mentor 30 years ago? I’m not gonna lie. If you’re going to associate me with Declan, I can get right back in my car and head home to New York.”

Uneasy at having inadvertently upset the detective, Jack explained, “I meant no disrespect. Declan Gage was one of the best.”

“And yet, I cannot think of a worse legacy to leave behind,” Goren replied with a huff.

“Because his daughter began murdering people?”

“Jo just desperately wanted his attention. Declan was the one who went truly insane. My brother is dead because of him.”

“That,” Jack replied, extending the folder with the crime scene photos, “is exactly why I need your skills, Detective Goren.”

Goren silently took the folder, as though he were accepting an unspoken apology.

Jack continued, “My former agent followed a similar path. Will Graham has unique abilities, but he is not the only person to possess such talent. I need someone who can walk that line without falling over the edge and going insane.”

Turning slowly on his heel, Jack walked the remaining few yards toward Hannibal Lecter’s cliff-side home. It was an impressive structure of concrete and steel. With a roof that resembled a bird in flight, and glass walls giving the illusion of nothing but air beneath, it was unforgettable. It was only its solitary position along the bluff that afforded it any pretense of anonymity.

The NYPD detective had now come to stand alongside Jack. Though, instead of staring at the house, Goren’s attention was primarily focused on the contents of the file’s manilla folds. Thumbing through the stack of glossy photos, he remained silent.

Shifting a bit in his shoes, Jack questioned, “Where would you like to start first?”

“Outside,” Goren answered flatly, briefly lifting his head and nodding in the direction of the patio.

“That’s where Dolarhyde was found.”

“Francis Dolarhyde? The man that the papers called The Tooth Fairy?”

Though the perpetrator was dead, the weight of his crimes still weighed heavily on Jack’s heart. And so it was with a sigh that he answered, “Yes.”

Unmoved by the agent’s apparent unrest, Goren questioned further, “Wasn’t this the plan? To use Dr. Lecter to lure in Dolarhyde?”

His face contorting with frustration, Jack clarified, “The plan was to take Hannibal to a secure location. Not here. I wish I could explain where it all went wrong, but all the other agents and officers involved in transportation that day are dead. It took us too long to find this place and when we did ... we could only locate Dolarhyde’s body.”

Goren’s fingers flipped through the photos until he came to one that pictured Dolarhyde’s remains. The image only conveyed a two-dimensional sense of the scene, but Jack didn’t need to look at the photograph to remember the condition of the dead man’s body. Spread eagle on the patio’s stone square stone slabs, the dark blood had blossomed out around the corpse.

Pulling the picture out from amongst its fellows, the detective strode out onto the stone terrace. Goren’s eyes flickered back and forth between the image in his hand and the scene of the crime. It wasn’t until he had positioned himself in the exact spot from where the photo was taken that he stopped and merely stared at the ground.

“Detective?” Jack questioned, coming to stand across from the seasoned investigator but careful not to step into the area where the serial murderer’s body had lain.

Instead of answering, Goren simply handed back the file with its remaining photographs. He seemed to expect the FBI agent to hold on to them, protecting them from being blown away in the wind. However, it felt strange to Jack to be playing second fiddle to a lowly police detective; especially without so much as a “please” or “thank you.” He wondered if this was how Goren typically operated. Little doubt this is how the detective had earned a reputation for being odd.

Goren crouched down, the hem of his suit pants lifting to reveal the tops of his worn black leather shoes: a minor detail quickly overshadowed by what the detective did next. With his head lowered and cocked to the side, the detective’s face was parallel to the ground as he stared out towards the edge of the terrace and, just beyond it, the cliff’s edge.

A bit unnerved by the detective’s methods, Jack found himself supplying information about the condition of Dolarhyde’s body, despite not being asked.

“A shell casing was found out here, but Dolarhyde wasn’t shot. His death was of a more violent nature. They didn’t use a gun to kill him, but rather a knife and an ax.”

“And teeth,” Goren added.

“That would’ve been Hannibal.”

“Are you sure Graham acted alongside him?”

“Will was drawn to Hannibal like a moth to a flame, except he knew better and tried to keep his distance. The problem was the flame, in this analogy, craved the moth and wouldn’t cooperate without him. Am I making sense?”

Goren lifted his head and sat back on his heels, replying, “A convoluted analogy, but I get the picture.”

“Analysis of the DNA recovered revealed three distinct profiles. I don’t think I need to tell you who they belonged to.”

“Both Lecter and Graham were injured during the altercation,” the detective noted.

Jack nodded and said, “There was a lot of blood.”

“I know.”

“Of course, the photos.”

“The smell,” Goren corrected.

“The smell?” Jack questioned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Detective, it’s been over a week. There’s been rain. You can’t possibly smell a thing.”

Tracing his finger along the sand between the patio stones, Goren briefly brought it up to his nose. His lids closed over his deep brown eyes as he inhaled deeply.

“Most of it seeped into the ground,” the detective said, “and only the faintest scent remains. But it is there.”

As much as the FBI agent was intrigued by Goren’s talents, he hadn’t brought the man all the way down from New York to tell him things he already knew. However, not truly knowing what made the detective tick, Jack was limited in the ways he could nudge the process along.

“That,” Jack finally said, after a moment of deliberation, “doesn’t tell me where they’ve gone. We know they were injured, and yet the only evidence we found points to their arrival on the property. There’s nothing indicating how they left.”

Goren shifted out of his crouch, straightening his legs and bringing himself to his full height. A few long strides were all it took for him to cross the patio and make his way over to the edge of the cliff.

“Maybe they didn’t leave,” he tentatively speculated.

At this suggestion, Jack gave a disgruntled huff.

“Goren,” he challenged, “there’s no sign that they went back into the house. And my team searched every nook and cranny of the structure.”

Jack glanced back over his shoulder at the house. A massive sheet of plastic rattled tightly in the ocean breeze as it covered the space once occupied by the floor-to-ceiling window that had formed much of the living room’s outer wall. Consequently, there was a considerable amount of broken glass still remaining on the exposed concrete slab that made up the structure’s foundation.

“We even scanned for trapdoors and concealed passages,” Jack continued, his tone tinged with frustration. “It’s like they disappeared into thin air.”

Looking back at the detective, Jack immediately noticed that Goren was now standing just at the brink of the cliff’s edge.

“Detective?!” he said, his voice raised ever so slightly. “I think you’re close enough.”

“Are you afraid of heights, Agent?” Goren called back.

“I am not afraid. I just have a healthy respect for the consequences of falling from a great height.”

A sizable stone lay between the terrace and the sheer drop of the precipice. Goren lowered himself onto it.

“The sea is eroding the bluff,” Goren said quietly.

The soft cadence of the detective’s voice drew Jack closer as he strained to hear him over the distant roar of waves crashing far below.

Resting his arms behind his back, Jack replied, “Such is the course of nature. It ebbs and flows with time.”

Another moment passed, perhaps two, where neither of them spoke. Once again, Jack found himself breaking the silence.

“Should we go into the house? There is more I’d like you to see.”

Goren turned his gaze back toward the agent, though his focus seemed elsewhere. Pensive, his eyes traveled from the spot near the raised metal fire pit (where Dolarhyde’s body had been found) back to the edge of the cliff. This, in itself, was not unusual. However, the detective’s eyes flickered, as though tracking movement. It was as if he were watching a scene play out before him.

“Detective?” Jack questioned.

When the other man gave no response, Jack tried again.

“Goren, what do you see?”

Still, the detective remained silent.

Jack stepped closer and prodded one last time.

“Robert.”

The detective shifted his line of sight, the glaze of aberration leaving his eyes as he focused on the agent standing before him.

A smile played at the corners of Goren’s lips as he spoke.

“It’s just ‘Bobby,’ Agent Crawford. Not ‘Robert.’”

“Okay, then, Bobby. What do you see?”

Instead of answering, Goren posed a question of his own.

“The wall of glass…” he speculated. “It shattered. How many casings did you say you found?”

“Just the one,” Jack replied.

“And the gun?”

“It was located in the house, along with an antique video camera. There’s also a significant amount of blood, mostly Hannibal’s and Will’s. Though I should mention that a wine bottle was found smashed on the floor, so you’ll probably smell that first.”

“Glass like that doesn’t shatter easily.”

Confused, the FBI agent asked, “The wine bottle?”

“No,” Goren clarified. “The window would have been made of multiple layers of tempered glass laminated together. It was only by shooting it out that Dolarhyde gained entry into the house.”

Finally catching on to the detective’s line of reasoning, Jack picked up where Goren had left off.

“Hannibal and Will would’ve been in plain view,” he said, outlining what might’ve happened next on the night of the Tooth Fairy’s death. “The plan worked. They lured him in.”

“Was the plan that when Dolarhyde attacked them, they would fight back and kill him?” Goren questioned sharply.

It was at that moment, Jack fell silent, unwilling to answer.

“Who did you want dead??” Goren asked.

“The plan was a gamble to begin with. Everyone involved knew the risks.”

“Did they? Tell me, Agent Crawford, whose life did you risk without a moment of hesitation?”

“I think you know,” Jack bit back.

“Doctor Lecter?”

Jack gave a curt nod. There was no need to elaborate.

With a look of incredulity, Goren questioned, “How many men died that day just for you to put Hannibal Lecter in the line of fire?”

“Eight.”

Goren abruptly stood, turning his back on the FBI agent and once again facing out toward the Atlantic. Taking a single step forward, he muttered under his breath, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Alarmed, Jack quickly moved within arm’s reach of the detective. Goren was dangerously close to the edge—too close. If the need arose, Jack was prepared to grab him, ready to stop the detective from tumbling over the precipice.

“A decision had to be made,” Jack explained. “I was merely the one who made it.”

“And what about the men who died? What about Will Graham? You said it yourself. He was like a moth to the flame.”

Unable to find the words to explain why he had done what he did, Jack swallowed hard. He blinked away the rising emotion and, as he always had before, maintained his unwavering demeanor.

“Like a moth to the flame,” Goren uttered, briefly repeating his prior sentiment. “It wouldn’t change him, though.”

“What wouldn’t?”

“Getting consumed by Lecter’s intensity.”

Confused by what the detective meant, Jack waited for Goren to provide some clarifying remark.

“Empathy is a terrible gift,” Goren continued. “To knowingly be attracted to something that causes so much pain... feeling that pain. Will would want to stop it, even as he was consumed by his desire for it.”

Jack paused, acutely feeling the wind snap at his face, making his blood run cold.

“What are you saying?”

Goren craned his neck, looking down the bluff’s ridges of earth and rock until his eyes met the ocean below.

“They went over the edge,” he said. “The waves smashing them against the rocks or currents pulling them out to sea. They are gone, Agent Crawford, one way or another.”

Skeptically, Jack asked, “You think they were so careless to topple over the edge?”

“No. I think Will put an end to not only his suffering but Hannibal’s ability to inflict more.”

Leaning back on his heels, Jack stuffed his free hand in his pocket and grimly stated, “They’re dead.”

“Dead?” the detective postulated. “Most likely. But I can’t say for certain. Reading a scene is one thing,” he continued, gesturing toward the patio, “but the ocean is another. Still, I very much doubt they would’ve survived the fall.”

“So, that’s it, then?”

Goren sighed softly, the sound a quiet lament that seemed at odds with his imposing stature. The loose dirt and small rocks beneath his shoes made a grating noise as he turned and walked back onto the stone terrace. As he passed, he silently placed the photograph of Dolarhyde’s body atop the folder still clutched in Jack’s hands, a subtle yet telling gesture.

“There’s no evidence they returned to the house,” he remarked. “Nor is there any indication they drove away or walked off. There’s only one possibility left, and Will had both the means and the motivation. It’s enough to close this case, even with the unknowns. ‘All suspects are either dead or presumed dead.’”

As Jack watched the other man leave the scene, he raised his voice and protested, “Presuming that Hannibal Lecter is dead is pure folly, Bobby.”

“And it is pure folly to chase after ghosts!” Goren shot back, pausing long enough to turn and look at Agent Crawford. “Dead or alive, the lingering memory of what happened here will haunt you either way. There’s nothing else you can do that you haven’t already done. Trust me, I know from experience.”

10 notes · View notes